


Message in a Bottle

by dogmatix, norcumi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Feels, GFY, M/M, Rex and his Voice, Smut, spoilers for the Rako arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:39:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7961023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rako Hardeen made a reputation killing Obi-Wan Kenobi.</p><p>His first night in jail, he gets a surprise visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Message in a Bottle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leechbrain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leechbrain/gifts).



> A birthday fic (now posted months later) for Leechbrain, the ever fabulous! <3
> 
> Many, many, MANY thanks to Flamethrower and IMJZ for their enthusiastic assistance that kept Norcumi from bungling repeatedly, and many more thanks to the kind folks on the tumbls who were encouraging about the writing process.

The guards drag Rako out of his cell in the dead of the night. He snarls at them, cracks wise about needing his beauty rest.

They snap back that he’d need a few centuries for that, so he takes a swing. They rough him up a little, then haul him off to a distant, isolated interrogation room.

He can feel the lingering echoes of pain, fear, _death_ all the way down the corridor.

He’s not surprised the Republic jail has rooms such as this, but he _is_ disappointed.

As they enter, Rako wearily wonders what Anakin is up to now.

He doesn’t expect to be shoved into an uncomfortable chair by a clone in shiny, unmarked armor. The guards exit, and Rako can feel them retreat all the way down the corridor, leaving him alone with a shiny who has durasteel tight shields.

The man paces around him, trying for intimidating. He has no visible weapons, but Rako well knows that means the clone is no less deadly.

Clone. Not Anakin. The build is too short for Anakin, the movements too much Mandalorian silent and stalking.

The clone finally removes his bucket, and Rako stills in a silent, invisible second of panic. Not a shiny. Rex glares down at him with an impressive sneer, barely checked fury burning in his eyes. Deliberate and silent, Rex pulls a very illegal electronics scrambler out of a belt pouch. He makes sure Rako can see him engage it before setting it down near the door.

There will be no records of this meeting, whatever Rex’s purpose is, and the guards are far away enough that they can’t hear anything.

“Do you know who I am?” Rex’s voice is cold, deeper than usual in a way that should make Rako’s stomach clench in a good way, but gods, he’s too busy calculating. He has maybe an instant to decide if Hardeen would know one blond clone, when almost all the propaganda is limited to Rex in his armor, backing up Anakin or Kenobi.

“A clone?” Rako sneers, sounding disinterested while leaning back and giving Rex a disdainful, uncaring look head to toe.

Rex’s smile is all teeth. “That’s right, Hardeen. A clone. Just another clone, one out of millions. And guess what that means?”

Gods, that man’s voice should not sound so damn pornographic when threatening him. Rako’s not sure what that says about himself, his life, or their interactions. He gives an indifferent shrug. “I figure you’re going to tell me.”

Rex sneers back at him, starting to pace around the room. “It means nobody’s going to be able to pick me out of a line up for roughing you up – or worse.” He leans in from behind Rako, far enough that he can give a cold look right into his face. “I’ve got a brother who’s really sorry he couldn’t be here, but he’s busy being my alibi. I’ll have to make sure I leave his gift with you. Unfortunately, he didn’t specify what bones he wanted broken.” This time, the smile is still mostly teeth, but that just leashed fury shows loud and clear. “I’ll have to pick out some nice ones.”

“What’s your problem, _clone_?” Rako pulls back, looking disgusted but not intimidated.

“Take a wild guess, _murderer_.” The rage slips the leash some, and Rex snags the shoulder of Rako’s jumpsuit in a tight grip.

Rako scoffs, ignoring the hold. “You’re here about the Jedi? Why the hell do you care about one of those slavers?” He’s not sure why he says it that way, if it’s his cover or something else.

Doesn’t matter. Rex’s face contorts into a snarl as he hauls Rako out of the chair and slams him against the wall. “Speak of General Kenobi with respect!” Rex growls, not sounding remotely human.

“Why the hells do you care?” It’s hard, but he is Rako Hardeen, and that cold blooded bastard cares about no one and no thing.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Rex looks beyond furious, and the sudden punch to the gut actually surprises Rako. He can’t curl up too far, not with that iron hold on his jumpsuit. “Just a _number_ _-”_ Rex hauls him away from the wall far enough to slam him back again, rattling Rako more than he wants to admit. “ – not even a _person_?” Another blow against the wall, then Rex is close enough to kiss, though given the brutality there Rako is for once not tempted. “You don’t know anything about me, and you sure as hells don’t know anything about General Kenobi!”

He weighs the odds, especially of his damn voice modulator being damaged, then looks Rex in the eyes. “I know he left you a message.”

Rex freezes. “What?” Level growl, flat, not reflecting how still he’s gone.

“A braid. Like a padawan’s braid.”

Rako’s not expecting the vibroblade that’s slammed into the duracrete by his ear. “You have 20 seconds to explain yourself before I take you apart!”

Obi-Wan slumps, letting the stress and exhaustion steal over him. Gods, as fucked up as all of this is –

It’s Rex. For years now, that’s been his safe haven, the one person he can just BE with. Rex doesn’t expect General Kenobi, or Master Kenobi, or Force-damned Councilor Kenobi, not in the privacy of quarters, be it his or Obi-Wan’s.

And he’s just. so. Tired.

“I couldn’t leave a message with Anakin.” He drops the accent, speaking as much like himself as he can. “Too noticeable. I thought that you would grasp the symbol of transition between lifestyles. Not the most elegant of messages, but all I could do on short notice that would be discreet.”

Rex’s eyes go wide, gaze flicking across “Rako’s” features, always returning to the eyes. Slowly, the fury drains out of him, leaving behind so much confusion and wounded disbelief. “What?” he finally gasps, heaving for breath like a drowning man.

“I’m sorry, Rex. It’s a cover story. There’s bounty hunters out to kill the Chancellor, and the Council – ”

Rex has him by the jumpsuit again, and gods, he’s crying. “ _The Council held your fucking funeral!_ ” he roars. “I had to watch your gods damned PYRE! What the everloving FUCK, Kenobi!”

His temper snaps, even though he knows he deserves it, deserves far worse, really. “Even I can only argue the Jedi Council to a standstill for so long! There’s eleven of them and one of me and even if someone is suffering a random bout of sanity, we’re still outnumbered most days!”

Rex lets go, stumbling back but never looking away. “What the _hell_ are they thinking?”

“They’re not.” He slouches back again, fury guttering out so quickly. He turns his head a little, eyeing the vibroblade without much curiosity. Small. Nasty. He has no idea where Rex was hiding it. “They’re _reacting_ , and they’re horribly behind the curve.” Obi-Wan sighs, bringing his manacled hands up to scrub over his face. “They don’t want to worry the Chancellor, just take care of everything quietly, without needing to interfere with Naboo planetary matters.”

“Naboo can go fuck itself.” Obi-Wan blinks at the unexpected snarl, looking back at Rex to find the man has moved back in arm’s reach. Rex reaches out with a trembling hand, fingers brushing down Obi-Wan’s cheek. “They killed you for a single planet’s peace of mind?” He almost can’t believe the distress Rex shows, the tears still streaming down. “They took your _face_ , screwed up their own gods damned propaganda, had you screw over your _family_ just so the Chancellor has a slightly better day?” Rex shakes his head, fingers tracing along Obi-Wan’s jaw, curving around his skull.

“Rex….”

“It’s not worth that, Obi-Wan.” Rex looks just as stunned as Obi-Wan feels, as if he can’t believe he’s saying it. Then his jaw firms, tears starting to clear as his eyes harden. “ _Nothing_ is worth that.”

Oh, he wishes that were so. Obi-Wan leans into the shaking hand cupping his cheek, and he tries to smile. “Anakin has few enough friends that I’m willing to be caviler about coordinated assassination attempts on any of them.”

He’s more than a little surprised that Rex slides his hand down to the neck, grabbing him and pulling him closer until they’re forehead to forehead. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, you can be the biggest damnfool idiot I have ever met,” Rex snarls, other hand coming up so he’s gripping Obi-Wan by the shoulders. The growl is low, harsh, a touch darker than the rough tones that sometimes show up in the heat of intimate moments. The anguish in Rex’s eyes should seem odd, out of place with that, but they accentuate each other instead. “You might have broken Skywalker. You dinged Tano pretty hard. Cody is a wreck, the whole fucking 212 nearly stormed this jail and the only reason the 501 wasn’t egging them on is because I put the fear of the gods in them because _I wanted to get there first._ ” Rex closes his eyes for a moment, and Obi-Wan finally feels like he can breathe. Too much emotion, too much _pain_ roiling in the Force, and gods, the double impact of words and that look.

Then Rex opens his eyes, once again riveting him in place. “I don’t know if I would have let that bastard walk out of here alive, and I don’t _care_ what the consequences would be. Court martial, firing squad, I don’t care because it would be worth it. _You_ are worth it.”

There are things they don’t say, because there is too much risk. They are bending, breaking too many rules. Jedi do not become Attached. Clones have Jedi as direct superiors, and one does not fuck up or down the chain of command.

There are things they don’t say, and Rex breaks that unspoken code. “We love you very much, and don’t you dare tell me vengeance is unacceptable.”

When there is too much emotion, Obi-Wan’s mouth really does tend to go on auto-pilot. “I was going to go with ‘uncivilized,’” he declares, voice distant and stunned. It startles a strangled little laugh out of Rex, but it’s clear that is more stress than humor.

Obi-Wan can feel that stress, how the sudden kiss is unplanned and desperate. He lets himself get caught up in it, carried along by Rex’s emotions. It’s deep, sloppy, and leaves Obi-Wan with a bit of warmth for the first time since that fucking awful Council meeting where he lost the battle against stupidity. Rex breaks away with a groan that makes Obi-Wan buck against him – it’s mad, he knows it, but against all reason he wants to claw something out of this clusterfuck for himself.

This damned war has gone on too long, and the Council has asked too much of him.

 _You might have broken Skywalker_. Gods, those words are going to haunt him.

Rex trails kisses along his jaw, and his voice is still that rough, dark growl gliding along Obi-Wan’s ear. “What can I do?”

Someone is making an unholy moaning noise, and Obi-Wan is pretty sure it’s him. Since it stops when he takes a breath and answers, it probably is. “Please,” he begs, for once unashamed to be pleading with someone. “Keep the secret.” Rex goes still with a spasm of the hands, clenching tight on Obi-Wan’s shoulders. Somehow even that is warmth, a reminder of life and – oh, he doesn’t hope anymore, but it’s close enough. “I can’t have gone through all of that, just to have it be for nothing. Please, at least let it be worth something.”

Rex curls forward around him with a faint sound he doesn’t dare label a choked off sob. For a moment, Rex leaves his forehead against Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He straightens with a shaking breath, hand coming up to cup Obi-Wan’s cheek again. “I wouldn’t,” he murmurs. “Not for anyone else.” He huffs out a tired, exasperated sigh of a laugh. “Only you.” This time the kiss is gentle, sweet, lingering. When he pulls back, Rex has a touch of a smile. “So. Fine. Good of the Republic and all that shit. What can I do for _you_?”

It must be his expression, because Rex gets that sly little smile that goes right to Obi-Wan’s cock, every time. The clone’s eyes dart down, and he gives a nod to the shackles around Obi-Wan’s wrists. “Stay put,” he orders, that lovely rough tone back to his voice. Then he reaches down, catching Obi-Wan’s arms behind the restraints. Rex lifts them high, stepping forward to drape them over his shoulders. The high collar of the blacks keep the shackles from digging into Rex’s neck too far, and the lack of pauldron is disconcerting enough that Obi-Wan is still trying to puzzle over that sensation as Rex scoots forward a little more. Their bodies are almost brushing against each other, with Obi-Wan’s forearms resting along Rex’s chestplate.

Then Rex freezes, eyes closing for a moment as regret and sorrow flashes across his face. “Shit. Cody’s my alibi, and he’s not taking it well. I have to tell him.”

The Council and all its flamboyant stupidity are very far away from this moment, being wrapped around Rex in what Obi-Wan is starting to realize is probably guaranteed privacy for what could be minutes, could be hours. His back is literally against the wall, and he does. Not. Want. To. Care. “Just Cody?”

He can see Rex’s eyes flicker behind the lids, then the clone nods. “Just Cody.” Gods, he sounds disappointed, but resolute, and that is enough. Obi-Wan leans forward, initiating another messy, long kiss.

When they pull apart, Rex’s expression has softened back to that touch of a smile. “Remind me?” Obi-Wan asks, not meaning to be quite so plaintive, or quiet.

Rex knows what he means. What he always means. _Remind me why living is worthwhile. Remind me why we’re fighting. Remind me what comes after the war, remind me what we can build once we’re done destroying._

_Remind me I have more value than what some last, desperate suicide attack on the Sep leaders would provide._

_Please, remind me that someone cares about the person, not the Jedi Master, not the Councilor, not the General._

“Obi-Wan.” Rex groans it into Obi-Wan’s mouth, hands sliding up his sides. The feel of that damned jumpsuit instead of his tunics is strange, and he squirms as he realizes just how they’re positioned.

“I, ah, can’t do much like this.”

He can feel Rex’s grin, wicked and amused, before the man pulls back enough to let him see it. “I know.” Rex cups Obi-Wan’s cheek in one hand, while starting to tug down the zipper to the jumpsuit. “Return it later. Once your hell op is done.”

‘ _Once you come back home_ ’ lingers in the small space between them, unspoken but as loud as if Rex had shouted it. Then his hands are sliding down, across skin bared underneath the jumpsuit. Obi-Wan is moaning again, never quite over the feeling of how warm Rex’s gauntlets can be.

Rex pulls that deft little maneuver Obi-Wan has never quite figured out, so that between alternating sweeps of his hands he leans in close, hands going down long enough to peel off the gauntlets. All Obi-Wan can feel is that movement near his legs, but Rex is close and nuzzling along his jaw. Then when Rex pulls back, it’s skin and gentle warmth sliding across Obi-Wan, the gauntlets on the floor.

They’re usually both actively involved in intimate matters, so it’s strange to Obi-Wan to just let Rex do what he will. It’s also a strange relief to have someone he trusts taking charge of matters, rather than well-intentioned idiots who’ve been cooped up in the Temple too long.

He banishes that useless train of thought, focusing instead on Rex. There are countless marks of individuality on that face, little quirks of expression to small scars and lines around the eyes and mouth.  That bit of a curl to one side of the mouth as Rex trails a hand down to grasp Obi-Wan’s cock, the way he looks fiercely dedicated to wringing more quiet, needy noises from his Jedi –

Force, no matter the armor, no matter the hair, Obi-Wan would be able to pick this man out from any and all of his brothers.

For a time, Obi-Wan is able to ignore the madness that is his life – hah! – where they are and what a clusterfuck their situation is. Instead it’s warmth of care and affection leaking out from under tight shields, too close and intimate to truly shut him out. It’s teasing kisses and Rex stroking pleasure with steady, gentle hands until Obi-Wan is curled back against the wall, coming with a soft keen he doesn’t usually allow himself.

Rex stays close for a bit, forehead to forehead and eyes almost closed – open just enough that Obi-Wan can see the gaze locked on to him. He’s careful when he ducks away, lowering Obi-Wan’s arms before pulling some disposable cleaning cloths from the back pouch where he usually seems to keep a stock. Obi-Wan has an absurd moment, trying to figure if that means Rex is wearing his usual belt, or if that’s somehow part of the standard kit and what the _hell_ the Kaminoans think the clones get up to.

Efficient as ever, Rex has both Obi-Wan and any evidence swiftly cleaned up. The vibroblade comes out of the wall, though it’s not clear where Rex stows it. He pulls the gauntlets back on as Obi-Wan resettles the jumpsuit, then they fall back into their roles easily enough. Rex pulls on his helmet, his body language going fresh-from-Kamino stiff. A roll of the shoulders, and Obi-Wan is back in Rako’s indifferent slouch. They exchange a glance, Rex waiting for an all clear.

He doesn’t give it. He is used to the silence between them, all the things they cannot say.

From a certain perspective, they are things that _Obi-Wan_ cannot say.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is ‘dead.’

He’s Rako Hardeen, who cares for no one and no thing, and the opinions of the Jedi council are worth less than piss to him.

Instead of nodding, the way he should, Rako smirks. “Hey trooper,” he drawls, not a hint of Coruscant to his words. When he knows he has Rex’s full attention, his smirk changes, curling into something a little more sensual. “Love you.”

Rex stiffens in astonishment, but it’s a small tell. The clone walks over to Rako, just another shiny up to a random bounty hunter. His hand is steady this time, moving up to Rako’s cheek, gloved fingertips light and warm in a caress. “You too.” Rex’s voice is husky, soft, near breaking with emotion.

For a moment, they are beyond roles, beyond their places. Just two beings, caught in an absurd situation.

Then the shiny steps back, gesturing sharply to him. Rako sneers a little as the shiny grabs the scrambler, pocketing it as he opens the door. There’s the expected complaints, all the way back to his cell, and Rako grumbles his way to his bunk. It’s only once there, back secure against the wall, that he closes his eyes and lets himself savor the warmth left with him.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Message in a Bottle [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14143686) by [litrapod (litra)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/litra/pseuds/litrapod)




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